


Lavender flowers

by Lumeriel



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Nothing too sexual, allergy, probably pre-slash, some humor i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-01
Updated: 2018-02-01
Packaged: 2019-03-12 10:33:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13545531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lumeriel/pseuds/Lumeriel
Summary: Lavender flowers are bad for Nolofinwë.





	Lavender flowers

**Author's Note:**

> *Quenya names  
> -Fëanáro/Curufinwë: Fëanor  
> -Nolofinwë/Arakáno: Fingolfin  
> -Arafinwë/Ingoldo: Finarfin  
> -Maitimo/Nelyo: Maedhros  
> -Macalaurë/Cáno: Maglor  
> ** This was supposed to be a scene in a longer story; but I did not have enough patience to finish it ... and I liked it ... and I wanted to post something with these two. Again.

Fëanáro straightened when he heard someone approaching. He consulted the light of Laurelin and realized that there was little left for the Second Mixture of Lights. Hell! He had lost more time than he thought looking for that plant and now he would have to make the way back in a hurry if he wanted to get there in time for the festival. Cáno was going to sing and he would not miss it for anything in the world.  
The prince gave a discouraging look to the field that he had finally found. The variety of lavender Fëanáro had searched for several days had ended up appearing in the Woods of Oromë rather than in the Gardens of Yavanna. From this variety could be obtained an essential oil of higher quality and its perfume lasted for longer. Actually, he was looking for the plant because of the therapeutic and medical qualities, not because of the cosmetic applications; but a little perfume to present to his wife did not hurt. However, Yavanna Kementári had been somewhat disorganized in locating the species of olvar throughout the Blessed Lands and finding them was sometimes as complicated as making a gem. He watched the flowering plants again and turned to go back home. The approaching light footsteps had quieted and he frowned. For a moment, the elf thought it was Nelyo who came looking for him; but his firstborn would not have stopped until facing him. Probably, any other elf was walking through the woods. He picked up the backpack and secured it to his shoulder. He had taken a few steps when a loud sneeze stopped him in his tracks.  
Fëanáro turned around when he heard a second sneeze, and a third ... and a fourth. He hurried in the direction of sneezing.  
\- Fuck! - the other walker grumbled with another burst of sneezing.  
The royal prince surrounded an oak and found himself in front of an elf who covered the lower part of his face while fighting against the allergy. The unfortunate _ner_ looked up when he appeared and continued to sneeze.  
\- Allergy ... little brother? - the prince asked with a half-smile of mockery.  
\- It's not ( _sneeze_ ) funny ( _sneeze_ ) Cur ( _sneeze sneeze sneeze_ ) Curufinwë. Bloody hells!  
Fëanáro burst into laughter at the new explosion of sneezing that shook his half-brother. After a few minutes, Nolofinwë stood up, throwing his head back and sipping at the nose, which at that point was as red as if he had applied blush. Tears dripped from the corners of his almond-shaped eyes, leaving furrows that in Laurelin's increasingly dim light flashed on his white skin.  
\- You're an idiot - the young man grumbled again with hoarse voice.  
\- **You're the idiot**. - Fëanáro became serious immediately. -What the hell are you doing here if you're allergic?  
\- I had no idea I was allergic until a few seconds ago. - A sneeze was implied; but finally it did not explode and the second prince let out the air with something similar to relief. - It must be the flowers. There are too many.  
\- Passes in the time of flowering -, the elder provoked, approaching him -. What are you doing here?  
\- Arafinwë was hunting with Oromë and mother sent me to look for him. Nerdanel asked me to meet you to remind you of ... damn, there I go again!  
Fëanáro watched him sneeze for about fifteen minutes. When the crisis seemed to spread too much, he frowned. Quickly, he approached his half-brother, who instinctively recoiled while putting an arm to avoid any stupidity of his older brother. Fëanáro grunted between his teeth and grabbed Nolofinwë’s wrist to pull against him. Nolofinwë could not react, confused by the spasms that shook his head.  
Immediately, the young elf began to struggle between the hands that kept him trapped. Fëanáro barked something that the sneezes did not let Nolofinwë to hear more than half and an instant later, his fingers pressed different points with the speed of a healer. Nolofinwë stopped in the middle of the sneezing and felt his nose slowly clear. When his older brother released him, he backed up against the trunk of the oak and watched the other elf, perplexed.  
\- What did you do? - he demanded, bringing his hand to his face.  
\- Do not touch your nose, silly boy. - Fëanáro scolded him, grabbing his wrist again -. It is a telerin healing technique: it was practiced by the eldar in the Outer Lands before the Long March. By pressing some points on the body, you control others and alleviate some discomforts. Are you interested in learning? - He raised an eyebrow.  
\- I do not have the touch of a healer.  
\- You do not need it. You just need dedication and ...  
\- Talent - Nolofinwë concluded in his place, squinting. The eldest frowned more. - I remember quite well the thousand times you shouted at me in the forge, Curufinwë. So let's say I know I have no talent for this.  
\- You have talent for many things -, Fëanáro mumbled -; you only do the dumb to evade responsibilities.  
\- Says the prince that rarely participates in the Council. - replied the youngest, with a soft smile expressionless.  
Fëanáro studied him with flashing eyes of rage. With a glance, it crossed the elegant body that in a few years would reach the maturity. The vanyarin bastard had grown in recent years: his limbs were already firm in hours of exercise and his features had gained more of Noldorin sensuality. His gaze stopped a fraction of a second in the curve of the fleshy mouth; for his skin, which was almost too white, Nolofinwë's lips had a beautiful, almost violet color, which - for some illogical reason - caused Fëanáro's stomach to writhe in ... anticipation?  
\- Where did you leave the _yellow sparrow_? - He growled, unconsciously tightening his fingers around the boy's wrist.  
Nolofinwë hid the smile at the nickname that the eldest son of Finwë found for the youngest Finwion: Ingoldo was totally vanyarin in his aspect. And still his voice was that of an infant, excessively fluted.  
\- He was taking a bath to accompany me. - He informed casually. - Come on. Anairë wants to hear "Nerdanel’s nightingale" singing.  
\- How did you say?  
\- Nerdanel's nightingale. - challenged the younger, turning in place -. Do not even try to convince me that you had something to do with the conception of those wonderful children. Neither Maitimo nor Macalaurë are your children: Nerdanel made them alone.  
Fëanáro did not respond to the mockery immediately: when he turned around, Nolofinwë's hair waved in the air and crashed into his face and neck. He inhaled the exquisite scent of smooth hair that then floated softly to rest on the navy blue coat ... and again his stomach twisted with anticipation ... and hunger. He had not let go of his half-brother’s arm and with a firm yank, he had him fall backward against his chest. Immediately, Fëanáro closed his arms around him, trapping him and buried his nose in the silky mass that covered his brother's shoulders and neck. He felt the shudder that ran through Nolofinwë's body, pressing imperceptibly against his lower belly and he felt it harden before he could control his own reaction. He sniffed at the hair with his nose, looking for the curve of the neck and for a second, hallucinated in the deep scent at hair’s root, his hands unconsciously tightening on the wrists of Nolofinwë to contain the urge to bite the tight rope of the nape and push the erection on the firm butt.  
The next minute, Nolofinwë had freed himself from his embrace and turned in front of him. They stared at each other, and Fëanáro saw the challenge in those almond blue silver eyes, framed by long curved lashes, delicately arched eyebrows ... His fingers were still around the wrist of the youngest and Fëanáro noticed that he was not forced to let go. Excitement jumped in his belly, like thousands of frantic butterflies and with a slight growl, he pulled back to his body.  
The eyelids descended mocking on the brightness of those wonderful eyes and the left corner of the mouth rose. Nolofinwë allowed himself to be dragged by the force of the pull; however, instead of being caught again in the circle of arms, he slipped under the left forearm. Fëanáro smiled and shifted his position to prevent his shoulder from twisting with movement. Before the child managed to surround him, he pulled again.  
The dance continued for a few minutes: each time Fëanáro attracted Nolofinwë to his body, it slipped with graceful movements, writhing and arching like a cat. After each evolution, for a thousandth of a second they were face to face, about to touch each other, their breasts almost touching with gasps, the breath intermingling, the black hair like crow's wing joining in the waves of their bodies. Fëanáro felt the almost painful erection against his tight pants - too tight, damn - and when his legs brushed, he perceived the hardness of his brother as evident as his own. At last, impatient for the hunger the game unleashed on him, he shifted his foot to hook Nolofinwë's knee as it turned against his side. Both fell to the ground.  
The grass cushioned the fall and Nolofinwë complained when he realized he was landing among the dangerous lavender flowers. Fëanáro sank a hand into his hair and forced him to face him. Without speaking, he approached until their faces almost touched and began to move slowly, barely touching the high cheekbones with the tip of the nose and lips parted. The lashes tickled his skin and he then drew the arch of his eyebrows, the bridge of his nose, the proud chin, the lips ... He did not kiss him. His breath warmed Nolofinwë's lips, absorbing his brother's slow breathing. He froze as the fire exploded in his chest and his guts: the tip of Nolofinwë's tongue had just come to meet him, touching his lower lip. Yes, that: in an instant, he would be drinking from that mouth, biting those lips, playing with that tongue, moaning against his teeth and making him moan for him. In an instant, the world would have changed forever ... and Nolofinwë would be _his_. He imagined how he would undress that perfect body, the marks that he would leave on his chest, on his shoulders, on his belly, on the inside of his thighs ... He imagined how that sinful and exquisite mouth would descend through his skin until it touched him at his peak, in that point that right now was **all he** ... He imagined how he would force Nolofinwë to open himself, to offer him his body, his unique warmth ... to fill him with his shaft, in slow and rhythmic thrusts ... in feverish and deep assaults that would makeNolofinwë scream and beg “ _more-don't stop-harder_ ” ... until the light of the Trees exploded in his head and filled him with his seed in generous jets ... In an instant.  
\- Arakáno! Arakáno, where did you get in?  
The piping voice froze Nolofinwë against the side of his older brother. With a sharp gesture, he freed himself from Fëanáro's hands and body.  
\- Shit! - He spat between his teeth while standing up. - I had forgotten Ingoldo.  
Fëanáro dropped backwards between the flowers and sighed loudly. The younger elf observed him over his shoulder, reprovingly.  
\- Do not stay there lying down. - he retorted -. We have a recital to attend and we hardly have time to get to the palace and change.  
\- I hate you,- growled the older elf, watching him with narrowed eyes.  
\- I know. - Nolofinwë shrugged. - Tell me something new, please, big brother.  
\- Arakáno! - Arafinwë crooned again, closer.  
\- I hate yellow sparrows more, - hissed Fëanáro. Nolofinwë laughed ... and started to sneeze.


End file.
